Breakin' Me Down
by Poisoned Scarlet
Summary: "He's just a package of cool and sexiness she can't understand" – both internally and externally. A 5 senses plus one overload collection.
1. Touch

**Breakin' Me Down  
by. **_Poisoned Scarlet_

**Summary: **_"He's just a package of cool and sexiness she can't understand"_ – both internally and externally. A 5 senses plus one overload collection.  
**Rating: **T for language, sexual situations/implications, minor violence.  
**Genre: **Romance/Humor.  
**Pairing: **Soul/Maka.  
**Authors Note: **I'm insane for posting this up but I believe that's an acceptable state-of-mind in the Soul Eater universe, so the creation of this collection is justified 8D  
**Story Notes: **_Post-Soul Eater anime? There isn't a real time-line to follow in these one-shots now that I think about it..._**  
**

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Soul Eater.

* * *

**Touch  
**_Maka_

It's their job.

She can't be squeamish about touching Soul, even if he _is_ male and thus prone to cheat and lie – or so she tells herself. She guesses that was the primary reason she wore gloves in the beginning of their partnership: because the idea of touching him, be it in scythe mode or otherwise, was almost revolting in its nature.

She hates men.

Has since her parents began having marital problems, which was at the tender age of ten.

He knows that.

Everyone knows that.

To her, they're all lying, cheating, good-for-nothing freaks; merely replicas of her whore father who acquires memory loss to having a daughter whenever something with boobs appears in his line of sight.

The loath is palpable in the way her lips twist in a sneer, her lake green eyes narrow is distaste, and her hands clench into tightly balled fists every time this happens.

_Especially_ when her papa swoons over a woman who's boobs are bigger than her IQ and calls her the cure to his ailments; the love of his life; his everything, because Maka knows far-too-well it's all just a sweet lie. It makes her burn with resentment on behalf of her strong-willed mama, who had to deal with her flighty papa for such a long, long time.

"_Hey, your hands alright?"_

"_What?"_

"_Your hands. That's why you wear the gloves, right? Swinging me around must hurt your hands."_

"_O-oh, yeah...they're fine, thanks."_

"_Cool."_

But Maka knows she stopped feeling that revolt toward Soul a long, long time ago.

She doesn't want to admit it because she _hates _being a hypocrite but he's probably the only exception to the rule.

The gloves merely became a trademark of hers, just like his jagged grin is for others, but the curious thing is she _still_ can't recall the time or day when she stopped feeling sickened by his touch; uncomfortable with his stare; nervous when they speak.

She doesn't know if it's when she was slammed into a brick wall by a Kishin, breathless, choked up, ribs searing with the break in them as Soul automatically transforms and grabs her hand; hauling her up, calling out her name frantically, defending her with a partially transformed arm as she regains her lost bearings.

Or maybe when she fell asleep on the floor in their shared apartment because it was too hot that evening: softly breathing in dust, stretched out like a cat on her side, barely hanging onto the last threads of consciousness when his arms scoop her up with a soft _sleeping on the ground is so not cool _before reality melts away along with his soft gaze.

Either way, the gloves lost their real purpose.

She longs for his hands now, ironically – those elegant, pianist, hands that can create such beautiful masterpieces yet kill all in sight with a simple flick of the wrist.

"_What about your gloves?"_

"_Huh?"_

"_Your gloves, Maka. I don't wanna' hear you complaining about hand sores when we get home. That'd be so uncool..."_

"_Oh! Right! Gloves..."_

It's almost ridiculous.

She uses every instant to touch him now.

When they're on missions it's the best because she can always touch him; she _has _to.

When they're at home there isn't much she could do together with him but she still takes every opportunity to lift him up, even if she _does_ paste up an annoyed expression to hide her eagerness, when he's too lazy to lift _himself_ off the couch.

When they're in public it's the worst: she has to consciously chide herself from walking too close to him so she doesn't do something stupid – even though his hands are nearly _always_ jammed deeply in the pockets of his jacket.

Even now, as she lounges on the sofa, her head propped up against the armrest as Soul lets himself fall back in the small space she's left for him, his hands gently prodding her ankles in an attempt to give himself more room, she wants to ignore his silent demand _just _so she can continue feeling the lovely soft feel of his skin on hers.

"Hey, Maka?"

"Hmm?"

"Move your fat ankles outta' my way."

And sometimes she just wants to chop those delicious hands off because Soul is an _idiot_ who doesn't _deserve _such wonderful hands!

"Ow—ow, quit it—damn it, Ma—_Shit_, watch it!" Soul leaps away, glaring at her when she tries to aim one more kick at his family jewels, something which only makes his glare intensify. "That was _not_ cool at all, Maka!"

"Calling my ankles _fat_ wasn't cool either!" Maka sharply replies.

He rolls his eyes, holding a bowl of popcorn in his hands. He tosses a piece into his mouth before saying: "How 'bout this: you give me space and I'll share."

"Half and half?" She bargains.

He only nods. "Deal."

Maka draws her legs in, catching the bowl Soul has none-too-gently tossed in her direction while he snatches the remote control off her lap and flips through channels until he arrives at the basketball game anyone who's _anyone_ will be watching tonight and gossiping about tomorrow.

He's lucky she's good at catching stuff or those elegant hands of his would be on their way to being professionally severed from his body by one only-too-willing Dr. Stein...


	2. Smell

**Breakin' Me Down  
by. **_Poisoned Scarlet_

_

* * *

_

**Smell  
**_Soul_

He can't get enough of it.

It's so uncool it makes him cringe but at least he has enough self-restraint to control his fierce urge to reach out and drag her into his arms, bury his nose in her ashy blonde locks of hair and inhale the sweet scent of cinnamon and vanilla.

"_NYA-HAHAHA! SOUL HAS A CRUSH ON MA—OOFH!"_

"_Shut up, you idiot, I do not!"_

Maybe his obsession with her smell has made it obvious.

Or _maybe_ he should quit hovering over her like a certain over-protective _man-slut _he knows (of course, his hovering is _way _cooler way than how her dad does it).

Or _maybe_ being with her at every waking moment wasn't such a good idea from the start.

Or, hell, _maybe_ he should carry around fucking textbooks like a friggin' librarian in case Black Star let his bastard tendencies get the better of him and he blurts out his apparently _obvious _secret for everyone who, apparently _already knows, _to hear!

But he digresses.

"_Hey, Soul?"_

"_Yeah?"_

"_Have you been using my shampoo?"_

"_Pfft, no. Why would I use your shampoo?"_

"_Oh. Well, I just thought you were since I ran out today and I bought that bottle last month. Maybe I'm using too much...?"_

"_Yeah. Maybe. Don't look at me, though – using girl shampoo is so not cool."_

"_Whatever, Soul, maybe Blair's been using it..."_

So not cool.

Seriously.

He was lucky she hadn't leaned over to smell him that day. If she had, she would have smelled her delicious scent on him; the smell he inhales whenever he feels like it, which is every night before he falls asleep out of habit.

He can be such a creep when it comes down to Maka – he's temped to commit seppuku for it sometimes. He certainly has the _blade _for it...

Geez, he's been hanging around Black Star far too much: his bad habits are rubbing off on him! Although, Soul doubts Black Star invades his weapons privacy (even though Soul is only obsessed with Maka's smell) but, now that he thinks about it...

Didn't he tell him he dug around Tsubaki's underwear drawer—!

_Shit – now I remember why I tripped him..._

Black Star had shouted that fact to the world not too long ago, he remembers.

That horny little fuck.

But Soul bets he gets _way _more action out of his partner than he's currently getting—!

He violently shoves that thought out of his head – no need to scar himself with unintended gruesome imagery even though that type of imagery involving _Maka_ isn't necessarily a bad thing – _with_ or _without_ her plain white panties...He doesn't really _care_, to be honest...

Going back, he has been reduced to a whole new level of uncool because he uses her own shampoo so he doesn't do something invariably stupid.

Like _actually_ invade her personal space.

Or _actually_ cross that line that has, so far, kept them both safe in their close friendship.

Or _actually_ say something that isn't suppose to be said – such as, he really likes her and wants to crush her mouth against his—!

_Fuck._

He's being an obsessive freak again and that's definitely _not cool._

Why does he always lose his cool around her so easily? He wonders. It's just Maka! Flat-chested, bookworm, Maka with the mile-long legs and flat stomach and bright smile and _damn __short__ skirt_—!

_Cool guys... cool guys don't have these thoughts about flat-chested girls! It's not right!_

A flash of her shapely legs is enough to threaten a nose-bleed.

Just in case, he reaches up and touches his nose to see if any blood had managed to leak out...

Nothing.

He's safe - for now.

_...Okay, maybe cool guys can think about flat-chested girls but ONLY because Maka has nice legs._

_Yeah, that's right._

_Cool._

Soul groans in frustration, the corner of his mouth twitching back to flash a sharp canine.

It is so _not _cool.

Nothing is cool today!

Hell, even the weather is shitty. That damn sun had better stop giggling darkly like it is or so help him he'll leap off a roof in an attempt to reap the blasted ball of hydrogen outta' the goddamn sky-

Maka walks into the living room with her fingers combing through her wet hair absently, wearing short shorts and a simple green camisole because of the humidity and heat.

Her hair is a flat sheet of dark gray as she plops beside him on the couch, her intoxicating scent wafting to him in a gust of vanilla and cinnamon.

Anger melts to frustration which melts to despair.

Why did she choose today of all days to look so terribly tempting? _Why_?

His hands clench almost unnoticeably on his lap; eyes fixed on the TV screen whose content is lost to Soul because he's trying far too hard to restrain his mad urges. Her smell is driving him up the wall in desperation yet all she does is sit there and look angelic; oblivious to the internal battle he is waging.

The battle he is sortakindamaybe _losing _today?

_Damn it, what is about her smell that gets me like this? _He thinks with a sigh, allowing himself a deep breath that somewhat tames the beast that wishes to devour the girl beside him whole.

"What're you watching?" She asks, curiously watching the game.

"Basketball game – Death City Canon's vs The Chicago Bulls."

"Oh."

Why does her smell rile him up in anticipation? He doesn't understand it; he certainly doesn't go off sniffing other girls (no, really, he doesn't – that would just be plain creepy and hence uncool) yet for some reason, if he does happen to catch a whiff of their usually overbearing scent, they all smell plastic and fake to him; nothing like the pure sweetness that is Maka, with her soft smile and sparkly viridian eyes and modest shirt but sinfully short _skirt_—!

_Damn._

He's doing it _again_: thinking about her in such a way, causing his heart to skyrocket, making him paranoid she'll hear it, cussing himself out because that's a _stupid_ thought, as _if_ she could hear his thudding heart from so far away, and going back to thinking he's such an emotional wreck even though his expression hasn't so much as twitched in its apathetic—!

His heart nearly gives when he catches Maka drawing in her legs and scooting closer to him, dropping her head on his lap and sighing in content.

_You're too cool, you don't give a shit. _

_Cool guys don't give a shit. _

_Cool guys don't give a shit..._

All she does is yawn, head now pillowed on his lap, long legs stretched over the edge of the armrest as she watches someone pass the ball to his teammate only to have it stolen by the opposite team. Her hair feels moist through the material of his pants but he's too busy fussing over what to do with his hands.

He's freakin' out and that's _so not fucking cool!_

Does he just keep them where they are – one propped under his chin, the other thrown over the top of the sofa – or does he bring them down to toy with her soft hair like he really wants to? Never has there been a time when he regrets not reading that romance novel Maka left lying around a week ago.

He is certainly no knight in shining armor nor a persuasive smooth talker.

That book she had been sighing over constantly could've probably _helped _him in this situation...

Does he just sit there and pretend she hasn't just laid her head down on his lap or does he ruin the moment and kick her off to salvage his quickly deteriorating cool? That sounds kinda' stupid in his head now that he really thinks about it – _why in the hell _would he reject her like that when he _wants _to mean more to her than just a simple weapon?

... Maybe that romance novel is still lying around somewhere—

"Hey, I think we're winning!"

Breathe.

Slowly but surely he's regaining his cool, he grimly notes as his eyes stray to the television once more. He finally notices that the game is now thirty minutes in and Death City is losing pathetically, to his mild surprise.

"Actually, we're losing by four."

"...Oh."

All he can do is take a chance now.

And Soul has always been one for risks.

Cool guys usually are.

Yep. His cool is definitely making a last-minute come back.

One arm slides off the top of the sofa and lands almost too casually on top of her shoulder, not necessarily squeezing it but just resting it there. Her skin feels soft. Then again, it's _always_ soft save for her hands.

She has the hands of a warrior but he doesn't mind the roughness – it only serves to swell the pride he has for his precious meister, as those callouses and sores weren't earned from menial work but real, dangerous and heart-pumping, training and strife.

He can feel her eyes on him curiously but he merely gazes at the screen with a slight scowl, hopeful she'll believe it's because Death City is losing and not because he's trying to gauge if this is acceptable or if he's gonna' get intimate with her dictionary for getting ahead of himself—!

Her shoulder shifts back and his hand drops down the dip to her neck before she brings it back up, shifting her shoulder blade closer to her as if to cuddle his hand in her warm, warm neck. His palm dares to open and gently cup the neck that pulses with her life under his fingertips.

Her heart is beating fast.

Then again, so is his, but she doesn't need to know that...

She curls closer, drawing her legs up, and he notices her hands cuddle to her neck, dangerously close to where his hand laid. The tips of her fingers are close to his and he has half a mind to reach for her hand and hold it in his...

He's surprised when _she _reaches up and curls a few fingers into his palm timidly. It takes him a moment but he closes his hand around her few fingers softly, technically _holding her hand..._

It takes _everything_ in him not to smirk like a villain and even then he allows a very slight grin to cross his usually impassive face.

Even though he can't lean down and drown in her scent, he's still glad he can at least indulge in these small moments without any hazard coming to his head or other parts of his body.

And that's something he can _smugly _rub into the face of a certain blue-haired boy since at least he isn't getting shurikens stabbed into his forehead for being a dumbass...

* * *

**A/N: **I know. Soul's obsessed with her _smell_? The hell? But I always thought Maka and Blair and the rest of the Soul Eater girls would smell good for some weird reason...

Hehe.

Black Star is such a darling even though he gets ahead of himself too much.

_Scarlett._


	3. Sound

**Breakin' Me Down  
by. **_Poisoned Scarlet_

_

* * *

_

**Sound  
**_Maka_

It's a devastatingly beautiful piece.

It tears her apart and sews her back together every time his fingers press upon those keys.

And she loves every second of it.

His hands dance across the ivory keys with practiced ease, producing a sound that she can only describe as _beautiful_ because it's so powerful in its intensity that it makes soul resonance shrink in itself.

It's slightly unnerving, how this feeling surpasses the ultimate soul bonding known to man.

But she can't help feeling _closer_ to him whenever he plays. She knows it's because no one else has ever heard him play, at least not with his permission, and she's slightly smug by the fact that she's probably heard him play more times than anyone else in the world...

But it's a scary feeling, too.

She's never been this close to a person. It's unsettling to know that she actually has that _one person _that can make her or break her. It's even worse knowing it's a _guy (_as in, from the species she utterly _detests _yet can't because she adores Soul too much to be so hard on the entire male population) that has this power over her.

She closes her eyes and breathes in.

Regardless, she feels like she's taken a dive into his being and twisted her small soul with his own.

She cherishes every single note sparked by his master hands because it's so _rare _when he plays.

It just breaks her heart that so much talent is lost in his own insecurities.

She doesn't understand music, that she admits with grudging ire, but she knows that what he plays and writes is indescribable. That it definitely _belongs _in some CD that will, no doubt, sell for thousands if he ever decided to show the world what he's made of.

"_How come you don't like the piano? You spend all your free time creating music sheets and listening to jazz..."_

"_I never said I didn't."_

"_Then?"_

It reaches crescendo and she feels like the air has been vacuumed from her lungs. Her heart soars, a smile breaks on her face just as his crooked grin widens, and she feels like twirling and singing and dancing along with the magnificent tune that drifts from the polished baby grand shoved to the back of the music room in Shibusen.

Her foot, which had been propped up on the wall she is leaning on, slips and the screech from her shoe is loud against the tiles on the floor.

Suddenly, the sound stops.

His hands flash to the fallboard and the score ends on an awkward note; like a bunch of keys have been pressed by clumsy fingers.

She wonders how he manages to even make _that _cringing noise sound so gorgeous.

"Who's there?"

She cringes. He sounds angry. "... It's me."

His voice his dark with barely contained annoyance. "_What_ are you doing here?"

She's in big trouble – she can feel his bloody red eyes boring into her exposed shoulder intensely as she scrambles for an excuse – but she can't bring forth the guilt she knows she should be feeling because she doesn't regret eavesdropping on his hobby at all.

She adores his music – even if she doesn't really understand it. They're the songs that lull her to sleep whenever drowsiness won't come at night; they're the sounds that calm her down when she's panicking in the heat of battle; they're the notes she tries so, so _hard _to learn even though it's all for a lost cause since she _still _doesn't get it and she's too stubborn to ask for someone else's – much less _his _– help.

"Why did you stop...?" She asks instead.

He's sharp with his replies. "That wasn't my question." Yeah. He's mad.

She purses her lips at his testy tone. "You skipped History of Soul's again."

He snorts. "What else is new?"

"If you skip out one more time, we're going to have to take remedial lessons with Sid sensei and I am _not _going on some stupid cross-country trip with Black Star and Tsubaki just because you were too _stupid _to pass the semester!" Her voice regains some of its ferocity but it's quickly extinguished after one glance at the polished piano.

She wants to hear more...

She plays with the thought of asking him to continue but squishes it when she catches a glimpse of his rigid shoulders.

He scoffs, quickly gathering up his unfinished music sheet. He folds it in thirds, slipping it into the inside pocket of his jacket for no one else to see. He shoves his pencil in his back pocket and moves away from the piano with that same insufferable drag in his steps, as if nothing is wrong although Maka would beg a differ.

He passes by her, silently, offering only a fleeting "I'll see what I can do" and letting her watch his back retreat.

She knows he's seething.

It's noticeable in the way he walks, even though he still tries to be cool about it, and talks, since Soul isn't known for his sharp words but rather his sarcastic drawl.

Even though the reason she had partnered with him was because she had witnessed to him playing just like this (only that time he had grinned darkly and showed her his true self in the form of a gruesome melody), she knows he's still very self-conscious about his skills as a pianist.

It's a stupid insecurity, too, since his music is just so damn _beautiful _it's ridiculous.

"You should play more often, you know." Her voice barely carries over the howling winds that come from open windows down the hall. But she knows he heard it because his next step falters. "You're really talented at composing music – it was really... beautiful." She leans off the wall she had been using as a post and walks in the opposite way to give him space, clasping her hands behind her back and offering no other words; even when she hears his steps stop altogether.

She still doesn't understand music.

Probably won't until the day she dies.

But she sure as hell knows he's a master pianist and the blood that runs through his veins is _definitely_ Evans in essence.

Because only someone from the Evans family could produce such an amazing and awfully-well composed score like that no matter how dark it gets sometimes – even if Soul fervently denies his lineage because of the bad memories associated with the name.

She faintly hears a grudging growl.

The squeak of shoes on waxed linoleum.

The shift of his clothes as he draws closer.

A smile lifts the corners of her lips when she hears him fall into step beside her with a casual: "So, Black Star challenged us to a basketball game after school."

_Thank goodness he's not mad anymore. _Maka thinks with a discreet sigh of relief. An angry Soul wasn't always a very good Soul to be around. Especially if you happened to live with him. "He did? Well, good luck!"

"By 'us', I meant you, too, Maka."

She gives him a dry look. "But I'm not good at basketball! You _know _that!"

An elbow nudges her side. "You don't have to _play_ – not really. All you gotta' do is shoot the ball into the basket a couple of times."

Maka slows her steps. That doesn't sound too hard. She's _done _it before... "Does that mean I bounce the ball once or twice?"

"You _dribble_ the ball a few times and then shoot." He corrects haughtily, making her growl. Does he _have _to rub it in her face? She almost regrets complimenting him on his piano playing but in the end she knows she can't take back her heartfelt words. He certainly deserves every praise he can get.

"Whatever! Dribble, bounce, same thing!" She huffs. Then she sighs: "Forget it! I don't _know_ how to play! Can't I just watch—?"

"Nope." He deadpans, and grabs her upper arm to drag her out of Shibusen; complaints falling on deaf ears the closer they reach the meeting spot their friends had chosen for these types of events.

Maka is on the verge of reaching into her backpack to have Soul get intimate with the new edition of _Soul Bonding _when his, shockingly soft, voice reaches her ears:

"Did... you really like it?"

She blinks once. Twice. He's talking about his piano playing, right? Yeah, he is, if the way he nervously glanced at her meant anything. "Y-yes, of course. Why wouldn't I like it?"

"Not many people do..." He grimly admits.

"Well, they're crazy!" She feels his surprised eyes on her. She just smiles widely. "Whenever you play the piano...it..." She struggles with the words that are far too corny to be said. No way can she say it feels like she's flying and all that romantic mush. He'd never let her live it down! Crap, what has she gotten herself into now? "...It—_gets_ to me." She forces out. Ugh. How lame is that? She bets he gets that every time!" I-I can't explain it but it feels a lot like Soul Resonance but on a completely higher scale... I can't really explain it but it.. feels wonderful." She timidly reveals, dropping her eyes to the floor as his gaze burns straight through her.

He only nods slowly, her simple yet impacting words causing more havoc in his head than she would ever know.

He's silent for a while, even as they reach their friends and begin their walk to the basketball courts, where she's bullied into playing for Soul's team by Liz and Black Star.

_And I told him I didn't want to play! _Maka broods, standing awkwardly by the side. _I knew I shouldn't have given into Liz... _But her hurt-puppy look is sometimes too much to resist. It's even worse when Patty's beside her – her wounded face is enough to make Maka 'aww' and want to give her a hug or something...

A ball is thrown at her and she catches it instinctively; not because she's good but because she momentarily mistook it for a Kishin sneaking up by her blind spot.

"Uh..." Maka feels lost. Now what? She runs around like a moron and tries to shoot it into a basket, right? But..._which basket is theirs again? _And she bounces the ball once, right? Or was it twice?

"One day." Soul starts, the softness in his eyes clearing away all brain function. Wait, when had he even snuck up beside her? "I'll play for you again."

If she was lost before, she's floored now. Her face feels hot, too. "What—?"

"HEADS UP!" Black Star screeches.

Tsubaki's shriek barely registers in her addled brain: "OH, NO, _MAKA, WATCH OUT_!"

She's tackled to the floor and the ball bounces away from her.

Great.

Not only did she _lose _the ball, but she managed to somehow get smashed by _Black Star _of all people.

And why is she so surprised? She should've expected something like this from the class clown himself..

"Get—off of me, you big idiot!" Maka snarls as Black Star sits on her back like some rodeo champion, laughing victoriously along with Patty, who's now waving her cowboy hat in the air madly.

"Black Star! Get off before you really hurt her!" Tsubaki fiercely shouts, causing Black Star to whine out: "But _Tsubaki..._"

"NO! STOP!" Kid, who had been silently observing the chain of events, shouts suddenly. He rushes forward and kneels before them, amber eyes glittering with awe. "This pose... this _form_...it's all perfectly symm—!"

"Say 'symmetrical' and I'll snip a piece of your hair when you're not looking!" Maka threatens, trying to wiggle out from under Black Star.

Black Star snorts at his horrified face.

"But—!"

"Kid, shut up before she really does it." Soul drawls from somewhere behind her.

Someone throws Black Star off her back and she thinks it's Kid for a split second until a tan hand reaches for her own; a hand she knows far too well.

"Get your head out of the clouds, bookworm." He teases with that lopsided grin of his. "I think you just lost a couple of IQ points there."

"NYA-HA-HA-HA-HA!" Black Star thunders in laughter, clutching his gut and pointing a rude finger at her horrified face. "MAKA GOT STUPID! MAKA GOT STUPID!"

"SHUT UP BEFORE I MAKE _YOU _STUPIDER!" Maka screeches, cheeks pink and wishing she had a text book on her.

Kid's on the verge of tears from being unable to memorize the symmetrical pose in his head, Liz patting his shoulder comfortingly with an exasperated sigh while Patty skips around them cheerfully.

"C'mon, Maka." Soul waves a hand in front of her, grinning out: "I got a lot of homework to finish for History of Soul's."

The words that slammed her in such a situation echo in her head again and all she can muster is a flustered, "Shut up, Soul!" before he hauls her up with a smirk and they're back in the game once more.

And it's definitely _not _a mistake that the ball missed the basket and hit Black Star's big head the first five times...

* * *

**A/N: **I love how Maka can't play sports because she spends too much time living vicariously through other characters in books.

It reminds me of me.

Except I can play basketball.

Kinda'.

Well, at least I know running around the court bouncing a ball like a hyper idiot will get me the necessary points to pass Physical Education class :D No offense to you basketball enthusiasts out there xD

_Scarlett._


	4. Taste

**Breakin' Me Down  
by. **_Poisoned Scarlet_

_

* * *

_

**Taste  
**_Soul_

They think he's stupid, for holding out so long he means.

But he doesn't let that get to him – not anymore, anyways – since he knows it would be even _more _stupid to coerce himself into believing that holding out for his beloved technician was totally uncool.

Because it honestly wasn't.

Even it _was _slightly frustrating sometimes.

It was well worth the wait.

_All the good things in life are._

She tastes delicious.

He knows he's addicted even before his lips even descend on hers.

But when they do, the reaction is explosive for both him and her.

His heart threatens to burst in his chest, a bewildering impulse to devour her mouth crashes into him, and his hands develop minds of their own as one clutches the curve of her hips and the other reaches up along the dip of her back to cradle her head.

It's only chaste.

It's barely getting somewhere.

And when he manages to coax her mouth open, red eyes half-lidded and starting to close, the feel of his tongue entering her hot mouth is almost enough to abandon his ethics and let primal instinct take over.

He doesn't like cherries but in those couple of seconds he thinks they're the best fruit in the entire _freakin_'_ world._

He leans closer, presses harder, reaches deeper, and groans along with her while her own fingers tangle themselves in the perfectly messy locks of his pale hair. He didn't know she could be so devious when her teeth catch his bottom lip possessively, fingers curling around bunches of his hair.

It only fuels the need for her taste as he staggers her backwards and away from prying eyes.

The wall is perfect – he's grateful for Shibusen's sturdy walls and empty halls as he slams her against it, his hands gripping the sides of her arms and shoving her up against the well-placed wall. His mouth doesn't leave hers, not even when his lungs beg for air, because he's so intoxicated with the taste of _her _that it feels like a sin to not slide his tongue along with her own and greedily crave for the soft mews that bubble up her throat.

But lungs are starved and he needs _air_, no matter how much he'd rather die of asphyxiation at the moment.

At least he'd die _happy, _he thinks morbidly.

Her forehead touches his chin as she pants and he inhales her addictive scent; suddenly glad he had taken a breather because she smells even _better _up close.

God.

He has certainly _waited _long enough for this. Was he a masochist or something? Did he like being tortured and emotionally maimed? Bah, either way, he got his prize and he's going to take advantage of what she has just given him permission to do until he gets Maka Chopped stupid.

He doesn't really mind being hit over the head with a book, to be honest – as long as he's able to taste her and breath in her sugary scent, nothing else matters. She could make him slave away in the kitchen cooking food for her, make him study and read and _actually_ take notes in class if she tried hard enough, and he would unhesitatingly give his life away if she were put in danger... relentlessly beat the _shit – _both verbally and physically – out of anyone who dared to harm or bully her...

All is cool as long as he could _love her_, damn it.

_I'm so whipped it's not even funny...Black Star's right – I need to hang out with him and Kid more often, Maka's nerdiness is rubbing off on me._

He leans back and raises a brow when he finds her fingers, previously twined with the silk strands of his hair, prodding her swollen bottom lip as if searching for something.

"Maka?"

It takes her a moment to react. He tries not to smirk _too_ much by her obvious daze. "Y..yeah?"

"What the hell are you doing?"

"I'm feeling for cuts..."

"Cut—!" He glares at her growing grin, so full of mischief because she knows he just realized out what she'd meant. "Ha ha. Very funny, Maka." He bares jagged teeth to her, adding sarcastically: "I don't bite."

"Much." She giggles into her hand, cheeks still red from their activity, heart still pounding in her ears, and so giddy she hopes none of her friends notice once they manage to drag themselves away from this secluded little nook in the hall and catch up to them like they had promised earlier in the day.

"I think we should get going... Tsubaki and the rest are probably wondering where we—_are_!" She squeaks suddenly, when his face rears up close to her; lips stretching into a devious grin that makes that newly-discovered heat inside of her stir.

He presses a palm against the wall beside her head, until they're level with one another, and he watches the way her usually sparkling lake green eyes flicker with something that makes his stomach tighten in anticipation.

The burning that's slowly singeing her is doing the same for him and they both find they'd rather burn together than put out the flames.

"Or how about we don't and just hang out here for the rest of the day?" He suggests temptingly, mouth hovering over her own dangerously; making a tremble of excitement jolt down her spine. "_Ma-ka...?_" He huskily intones, lips feathering her own.

"N-no!" She strangles out, jerking back with a red flush of her cheeks. "We have to go! We both promised to-to meet up with them!" She chokes out, disappointing him until she rigidly escapes from under his arms and strides down the hall, stumbling a bit but managing to retain her dignity by marching. "Hurry up, Soul, or we'll be late!" She calls over her shoulder, pausing and flushing horribly when she catches his amused gaze.

He merely grins.

Because he knows she's still weak in the knees and it's _him _that has caused such a wonderful reaction from her.

He trails after her smugly, tongue flicking out to lick his lips in a manner that reminds him of those few seconds before he devours squishy souls.

She isn't going to get away from him that easily.

He's certainly waited long enough.

* * *

**A/N:** I was going to make this longer but when I did, I discovered it would cross the fine line between T and M and be monstrously long. This series is supposed to be short, both in chapters and word-length, 'cause that's how I planned it out.

Heh...

Squishy souls XD

I'm sorry, I probably ruined the mood of the story by adding that bit but I couldn't help myself!

_Scarlett._


	5. Sight

**Breakin' Me Down  
by. **_Poisoned Scarlet_

_

* * *

_

**Sight  
**_Maka_

People are afraid of him.

She can't do anything to stop them from being frightened, either, except maybe glare or try to nudge a reaction of _something other than a blank look _from the young weapon.

People judge him because of his looks.

A fundamental attribution error at its largest.

It pisses her off something nasty, too.

His hair is white, as if he'd bleached it mercilessly, and his eyes are shadowed pits of scarlet; stark against the tan skin that has only gotten darker with how much time they spend out in the sun with their friends or on missions.

His clothing choice is stylish but casual: a combination of cool black leather and dark, forest green, pants matched along with a bright orange t-shirt and some black dress shoes. The thin headband that combs his hair back, spiking it even more despite himself, only adds to the utterly _cool_ and collected aura he gives off whenever Black Star or Kid aren't around.

But they're still afraid.

Because of one thing, really:

His teeth.

They're sharp, menacing, jagged fixtures that become only more frightening with every grin he dares to show.

They're the first thing people notice aside from his white hair and bloody red eyes.

They're the last thing they see, too, since they look away hastily to avoid staring at the demon kid, as they love to whisper to each other.

Maka hates it.

She loves his teeth – in fact, she would never admit it to him or anyone else, but when she first saw them that day all those years ago, when they first partnered up, she thought they were pretty _cool. _This feeling has only been intensified when she discovered just what he could _do _with those sharp, sharp teeth of his.

She thought his hair was, in the beginning of their partnership, bleached because there was absolutely _no way_ someone could be born with a whole head of shockingly white hair. She was proved wrong when she moved in with him a few days after their initial partnership – he's never even _touched _a bottle of dye, he would much less _know_ how to put it on himself to bleach his head!

His eyes were piercing, she would give them that, but intoxicating. They were pools of rich rogue that she sometimes found herself drowning in if she wasn't careful. They could flicker with rage, melting the red into something dark and dangerous, or flash with glee that only made the scarlet lighten to a nearly pure infrared.

And those _teeth._

God, when he _grins _at her and his eyes grow _dark _it's the best feeling the world; like being drugged up on something that only feeds her bliss and excitement.

He's just a package of cool and _sexiness _she can't understand.

Why can't people see that?

Well, aside from the annoying hoards of girls at school – they don't count because their brains have melted with all that hairspray, ironing and over-use of shampoo and other environmentally-poisoning hair products...

"Maka, why are you trying to break the control? I need that for watching TV, you know."

She stops trying to break the remote control with her bare hands at Soul's voice. She flashes dark green eyes to him, who stands beside her holding a can of soda and a large bag of chips in the other.

"I'm _not_ trying to break the control." She growls.

"Sure you aren't." He mutters skeptically, sitting down and tossing her the can of soda.

She hastily pops it open, feeling stupid for letting her thoughts get to her the way they did. There was no need to go crushing the life out of the remote control but whenever she lets these thoughts overpower her, her strength and _fury_ know no bounds.

She can still feel herself seething, even as he stretches out like a cat and munches on a few chips. The bag slides down his lap and he lets himself fall on her lap with a soft _plop _like usual, yawning widely and giving her a glimpse of those sharp teeth.

"Hey, pass me the soda."

"Get it yourself!" She snaps, the can held tightly in her hand.

He frowns at her but reaches for it. He yanked it out of her vice-grip with a slight grunt and tipped it to his lips. His eyes fix on her face, which is staring straight at the TV that's broadcasting some news alert about a bank robbing by downtown, and how the robbers are being fought by a few Shibusen students who happened to be hanging around there at the time of the incident.

There are things about her that give away her emotions away instantly and she knows it. Such as, her eyes. They're blank pits of green that light so ardently only a fool would miss the flood of emotions. Her mouth also played a major part, this she knew: when she was mad, it twisted into a slight sneer, when she was happy, it would curve into a happy smile, and when she was sad, it would always downturn in sadness.

And at the moment, Soul needed to see nothing other than her mouth to know that she was _pissed –_ because her mouth was twisted in a blatant snarl that made him shudder.

He could only hope it wasn't _him _that made her so pissed since he was basically _lying there_, in the open, with absolutely no cover in case she went berserk and started bashing his skull in with a book or the friggin' remote or something..

"What's wrong?"

Her voice is controlled; tight. "Nothing's wrong."

"Maka."

"What?" She snaps.

"You're lying." So cool, so collected.

God, she hates his calm attitude sometimes!

"Just drop it, Soul..." She mutters angerly, not really paying attention to the news reporter at the scene of the crime.

"What's got you so pissed? " A sly smirk crawls on his face. "Kid organize your bag again or something?"

"_No!_" She hotly replies, cheeks heating at the unsightly memory.

That only happened once.

_Once._

And she _hated_ Kid for that entire day because he just so _happened_ to find her menstrual pad and aligned it with the corner of her binder since it was a goddamn _square _and would have otherwise ruined the perfect symmetry of her stupid _bag_...

He did that in public, mind you.

"Then?"

She presses her lips together.

Why can't he just shut up and watch the friggin' news?

A finger pokes the underside of her chin.

She slaps it away.

He sounds bored but she knows he's just hiding his concern. If he didn't care, he wouldn't be pestering her as much as he was. "Maka..."

Nothing.

"Maka."

Not even a twitch.

"... Maka, your pervy dad is at the door—!"

"_Where?_" She snarls out, needing something to take her frustrations out with. Who better than her idiotic papa? She searches the room frantically for a second before a snort brings her back. She sharply glares at Soul, whose lips are still holding that hot smirk of his. Goddamn, what she'd give to smear it off his smug face at the moment. What the hell is he so smug about, anyway? "What do you _really_ want, Soul?" She grinds out.

"What's bothering you." He innocently answers.

She resists the urge to reach toward the coffee table and grab her textbook. "It's—stupid." She sighs out finally. There is no use hiding it – she stopped hiding things from him a long time ago. Hiding stuff now seemed childish and immature...even if these thoughts would totally give away her feelings.

Her stomach plummets to her ankles.

Maybe she should control her facial expressions better...

"So what?"

"So you won't be interested." She evades.

"I don't care."

Can he _quit_ with the cool? It's bugging the shit out of her.

"I'm just angry."

"No kidding."

She sends him a look of warning he bats away with a simple grin. But it's the grin that makes her anger simmer down to the conflict she feels inside. Her fingers pick the sharp edges of the can she holds in her hand again, green eyes blankly staring past the boy whose grin has now faded into a concerned frown.

"Can't you trust me enough not to laugh?" He asks softly.

"M'not afraid of that." She mumbles, avoiding his hard eyes. He's waiting. Should she just say it? The news is still on, still on site, and still showing the massive crowd that has gathered for the spectacle. But she can't concentrate on it. His staring is making her anxious. "I just..." Her fingers hesitantly tangle with a stray lock of his snow hair. Here goes nothing... "It pisses me off when people get scared of you!"

His brows shot up to his hairline in disbelief. "_What?_"

"It frustrates me when people don't look at you because of your hair or your eyes or your _teeth_!" She blurts out, nearly growling. Her finger twists around the lock of hair tighter, lips pursing in anger. "They judge you by your appearance and it just pisses me off when they do that because...because they don't know just how wrong they are about you! You're not some freak – you're the coolest person I know!" Her face feels hot and she blames it on her anger; not because she technically revealed some of her feelings for him.

It's silent for a second.

"..That's it?"

Maka blinks. Huh? She wasn't expecting that. A laugh? Yeah. A snort? Definitely. But that? Nope. "Y-yeah..."

Soul just rolls his eyes, stretching out on her lap like nothing happened. "Stupid. You really think I care about what other people think of me? I only care about what _you _think of me – everyone else can go piss off." He opens his eyes to that same lazy, half-lidded, look that makes her heart pound out of her ribcage.

He grins, eyes twinkling with mirth. "You should know that by now, Maka."

Damn his eyes. Damn his hair. Damn his _grin_.

Damn his admission since it makes her want to melt... God, how lame can she get? It's definitely not dignifying to want to melt like those silly girls in those romance novels she _sometimes_ reads...

She shifts her eyes away shyly, cheeks growing hotter with his amused gaze. "It still bothers me...and you can at least _act _like it bothers you, too!" She adds, with a spurt of her usual anger.

"Don't let it get to you." Soul shrugs, closing his eyes again. "I really don't care."

A small smile makes it on her face, softening the previous rigid expression that darkened lake green eyes menacingly.

Soul would tell you he likes her better when she's like this, all guard down, no need for pretenses, because he likes to bask in the affectionate glow of her gaze even though his cool pretense prevents him from really showing it.

The moment is broken, however, when an eerily familiar _YAHOOO!_ breaks through the easy silence around them.

"... Is that _Black Star _on TV?" Maka gawks at the screen, the blue-haired boys ginormous grin bright on his face as he uses Tsubaki as a mike again; burglars visibly seen escaping from behind the egomaniac...

Soul slaps a hand over his face.

Leave it to Black Star to ruin the moment...

Now he bets he has to _get up_, tragically _leave _the adoring gaze of Maka, and go help his best friend before he _really _causes trouble.

"Crap." Soul groans, forcing himself up. Maka shakes her head, sighing in exasperation. "Not again."

Maybe he'll actually tie Black Star to the bedposts tonight, and every other night, just to make sure he wasn't out doing something _stupid_...again.

"Hey, Soul?"

"Yeah?"

"I think the burglars got away..." A buzz of heated curses and protests come from the television. "You might wanna' help Black Star out _now _before the mob takes care of him for you."

"Yeah." He sighs. "I know...Man, how uncool. This is _so_ not the way I envisioned I'd end up on TV..."

Maka just laughs at him, pulling the sides of her mouth up with her fingers to form a silly smile. "Remember to smile!"

He tosses her a grin instead. "Don't get pissed when people stare at me!" And he darts away before she has time to grab the text book and throw it at him.

* * *

**A/N: **Peoples. Remember: these one-shots have no time-line. That means they're all over the place! Although, if you find some sort of correlation between them, don't hesitate to continue thinking they're in order -whistles innocently-

I was supposed to update tomorrow but then I discovered I wouldn't be able to because real life is a bitch D:

You guys lucked out this time! XD

_Scarlett._


	6. Overload

**Breakin' Me Down  
by. **_Poisoned Scarlet_

_

* * *

_

**Overload: Soul Resonance  
**_Soul&Maka_

She's here again.

He's here again.

It's like stepping on stage only without the fright and judgmental eyes staring up at her.

A spotlight illuminates her and the lacy black dress glitters under hot-baking lights. Her shoes are heeled, strapped on her feet tightly. Her dress is form-fitting; modest around her chest yet accentuating the curves that dip around her hips dangerously. Her pigtails are tied in black ribbons; black, silk, gloves pulled over her hands and up her arms.

He's in that sinful pinstriped suit of his. He stands far off from her, by the grand piano that sits in the middle of the Black Room, adjusting his jacket on his person haughtily. A slight grin is on his lips, scarlet eyes smoldering as they drape down her body in a way that makes shivers crawl down her spine.

A snarky voice interrupts their appreciative gazing.

"_You_ again."

Yeah, _her_ again.

Little Ogre sits in that cushioned, wrought iron, high chair of his; demonic eyes dark on her person as she steps forward from the raven-black curtain, the clacks of her shoes loud in the suddenly silent room. The demon slides off the chair, dragging forward with a curious twinkle in its devious eyes. "What are _you _doing here so suddenly, little girl?"

Maka spares a glance at the small demon. "I—!"

"None of your business." Soul cuts her off briskly.

Little Ogre is only too amused by his protectiveness. "Well, now, that isn't any way to treat a _friend_, Soul. And here I thought you had more class than that..." Its eyes stray back to her, foreboding and dark. Its grin only makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand. "Let me correct myself: what brings you to my humble domain, Maka Albarn?"

Soul lifts the piano's fallboard, ignoring the imp.

"Soul Resonance." She replies softly. Yes, Soul Resonance brings her back to his soul's room. They are fighting a strong Kishin, she clearly remembers, and they bonded souls once more due to it. Kid and Black Star are out there, too, only they haven't Soul Linked as of yet – no, she wants a few seconds on her own with him while on the outside they're just starting to charge up for the imminent Witch-Hunter that will weaken the formidable Kishin that starves for their souls.

"Well, then..." Little Ogre bows, almost ridiculously since his arms are far too big for its cramped body. The clown grin on his face makes him look more demented than how he already looks. "On with the show!"

He snaps his fingers.

A clash of notes startles her.

Soul saunters forward as if given a cue, ever so smooth with that cunning grin of his. He reaches for her, hand stretched out for her to take, and asks with a devilish mischief she can't place yet: "Let's dance?"

And she can only takes his hand in hers.

She can feel that demons eyes pierce through them while Soul leads, a soft song playing on the suddenly autonomous piano.

She doesn't recognize it but she assumes it's one of Soul's creations that he hasn't let anyone else but himself listen to to.

She can't help feeling smug that _she _is the only person other than himself to hear the sweet melody... It makes her feel warm and gain confidence.

She squeezes his hands and he squeezes back, his smirk widening at the emotions that pulse between them.

"You're getting better." He whispers into her ear, hot breath making her heart stutter. She swallows, lowering glass green eyes to the checkered floor in uncertainty. It's always like this in the square room: they dance, the piano plays, the demon watches like a hawk, and she threatens to dissolve into a thousand shards of glass from the single act of him holding her in his capable arms. "Left."

She obeys, because what else can she do, really?

She's in _his_ domain.

She's in _his_ soul.

She's helpless, vulnerable, because she can feel the thrumming of his emotions just as clearly as he can feel hers.

He's a distraught mess of excitement, nerves, and something else, something like intense care that borders on passion, and she only reflects this.

She often wonders why they don't _do _something to relieve these building tensions between them when they're so close it's painful. Why do they always act like nothing happened when they return to their proper minds?

They know each others feelings in this form; there's no way to hide the intense adoration they feel for one another.

It's impossible to.

And even if there _was _a way to hide them, bury them, stash them away so no one could find them, she wouldn't do it because she simply can't ignore the humming call for his soul whenever he's near; the wash of his warmth over hers as they sway to the discordant play of the piano behind him...

"Right."

He always feels so different whenever they're in this room: more real, less fake, more emotional, less impassive.

"Forward."

She wonders if she's any different, too: less violent, more caring or less prideful, more willing.

"Back."

His arms tighten around her waist, bringing her in even closer to him; forcing her to inhale the blissful, musky, spicy scent of himself. She doesn't reject him, because she has to be far down in the strings of madness to reject Soul Eater Evans, and merely laves her fingers with his own in silent devotion.

She's always so vulnerable in this Black Room.

She can't find it in herself to hate it, either.

Maybe when she leaves the confinements of the room can she mourn the loss of her pride and emotions to his puppeteer hands that simply _love _to make her twirl and dance to his every command; his every gaze and grin.

Maybe.

Since being so emotionally exposed has always been embarrassing for her – her adoration for him is ridiculous, she sometimes thinks, when she's lying in bed and sleep won't come.

But then again, so is his...

He guides their arms, lifting them up into the sky that is only a square of polished black. The spotlight is on them again, bright and blinding, and she can only see the unnatural smoothness of his cheekbone as he gazes at something she can't see.

His arm becomes tighter around her waist, pulling her so close to him there's no space between them, and she finds herself on her tip-toes just so she could continue to crush herself against his sturdy build.

It causes that spark to ignite.

That urge to be disarmed by his smoldering gaze.

She can feel the flames that stir within her start to grow out of control...

The piano has struck a single note this time.

G.

She allows herself an absent moment to wonder just _who_ is playing it – Soul or the Little Ogre that's watching them with a wide grin of knowing? – when it hits another deep note that reverberates throughout the walls of her soul, causing her to utter a silent gasp.

He suddenly looks down, scarlet eyes molten with a desire that makes those flames kindling inside of her shoot up to unimaginable lengths, and the large smirk that spreads across his face takes her breath away.

She's burning.

She doesn't know what to do.

She knows what's coming, though.

His mouth hovers over hers teasingly, his free hand gripping the silk of her dress; scrunching it up in his fist. Their arms are still extended in the air and she feels as if they've been paused in time for a split second while her mind tries to catch up with what's about to happen.

"Go for it."

She feels like dropping to her knees from the sheer amount of undiluted emotion, raw sensations that exterminate all rational thought, that threaten to drown her but she finds that she can't: she's too frozen.

Go for _what?_

"Do it before it's too late."

Lean up? Does he mean lean up and kiss him and ultimately char with the heat he exudes and she burns in? She doesn't know anymore. Her mind still hasn't caught up with her yet – it's still lost somewhere up in the onyx sky along with her heart.

"No, you idiot." Soul chuckles richly into her ear, sending more goosebumps up her gloved arms. His lips dare to brush up the plane of her cheek, leaving a single kiss on her temple.

Her knees feel so weak.

How can he reduce her to such disgustingly low levels with a simple sharp note or deep baritone? With a single glance or grin?

"The attack." He murmurs, eyes closed as he holds her in his arms. The piano still plays behind them. He grins at the dazed and swimming emotions that thunder through her being and into his, and hides his face in the crook of her neck. "Remember...? You better do it now or Kid might die for real."

_Oh._

_The fight—_

"_WITCH HUNTER!_" She screams into the black of the night, snapped out of the picturesque moment she had been previously melting in; back to the gritty battle against the Kishin that has caught the blow with its shoulder and only watches in horror as her scythe slices clean through putrid flesh and bone and eventually hits concrete.

_I knew that..._

She swears she felt his lips press against the corner of her own right before their resonance cuts and they're both one of themselves again; tearing into malignant humans once more and thrust back into reality, where they will both pretend they have not witnessed the powerful pulses of their emotions coursing between them.

Where they'll get lost in the mindless dramas of every day life.

Where they'll watch each other from afar.

Where they'll let pieces of their love show in small gestures and touches; rare smiles and soft gazes.

Because he was cool-guy Soul Eater Evans and she was bookworm Maka Albarn and goals weren't reached without hard labor and strife – they wouldn't take the easy way, not this time.

Breaking each other down to their most raw sentiments, their most raw, innate, senses, was something they wanted to do in reality.

* * *

**A/N: **I know. It's short but I really wanted this to be a special ending to a special series. Now, I might get some things wrong about soul resonance but to me minutes in the black room translate to split seconds in reality! That's how I see it, at least...

On a final note, I'll probably be making another collection. That is, when I find a suitable collection to start... You can all throw out ideas if you want!

Thank you for your supporting reviews :D

They make me feel all fuzzy and 'aww' inside...No, seriously, they do, and sometimes I find myself insanely thinking that it isn't normal and maybe I should go get checked up by Doctor Stein.

Hehehe.

_Scarlett._


End file.
